Unable to Bear
by goddess-orchid
Summary: A warden's life has many burdens. Sometimes they are more than one can stand, but Alistair and Warden Surana thought they had prepared. Now after the fall of Corypheus and the loss of her beloved, Surana wonders if they'd been fools to have ever loved at all and if she can ever move on. Comfort comes from an unexpected source, but is that enough to keep her moving forward?


**Unable to Bare it:**

Dragon Age AlistairxSurana and Morrigan

Spoilers for Inquisition **.**

The letter Darla received had been written perfectly and that may have been the worst part. It conveyed sympathy, sincerity, and most of all Alistair's bravery. Yes, he was brave. Always that. Always her knight in shining armor, but never again. Darla clutched the parchment in her hand, and watched the fire flicker and dance in the cool winds passing through the caves. For Alistair's sacrifice he was to be given two statues as ordered by the Inquisitor; one to stand vigil over the remains of Adamant and another to be set in the garden of Skyhold. He should not have only been some statue. He should have been there; holding her close in order to keep warm, or laying beside her until she drifted to the Fade. Instead he had chosen to be a hero. Hawke had spoken well, told her how sorry she was. Hawke had been a good woman, and Darla ached at how Hawke grimaced as she said she should have stayed instead of him. In response Darla gave a sad smile, hugged Hawke tight, and then left Hawke unable to say more than "thank you". Alistair had been left to the Fade, to a demon stronger than any she had ever heard of in all her years in and out of the Circle. Did he die quickly or was it a long and dragged out death? For all she knew he could have lived or live still, slowly dying of thirst and starvation in the confines of the Fade. Unlikely, according to Hawke's descriptions of the sight she and the Inquisitor left behind. Alistair, her hero, stood before a towering demon whose maws dripped with venom and whose many eyes darted about in rage. He did not back down. He did not wilt. He stood with his sword and ran towards certain death. He died as he lived. It was more than she could ever bear.

Darla hadn't slept since that night. She could not risk meeting him in the Fade, could not risk a demon praying on her heart. It was split open, seasoned with ten years of memories that made her the perfect meal. Alistair would have been disappointed to know how weak she was without him. More than once she thought of throwing herself to the demons, just so she could live in a memory of what could never be. To let the demons construct a perfect fantasy and let herself drown in it until nothing of herself remained would go against everything she stood for, but damn it sounded appealing in the dimly lit loneliness of that cave. Maker preserve her.

The sound of footsteps crunching half frozen grass, and pebbles kicked against the cave entrance sent Darla to her feet. She did not bother grabbing her sword, and instead put up a barrier around herself, causing the air to crackle with magic like the air before a storm.

"Show yourself!" She spat

"Do not be alarmed...tis only I."

The voice sent Darla's mind reeling, and for a moment she could not believe her ears. A hooded figure came into view with another smaller figure not too far behind. When Morrigan revealed herself Darla almost burst into laughter. It was so predictable it was almost ridiculous. Of course she would come then. Alistair had written her one final letter before Adamant. He said he had spoken to Morrigan and that he saw his son. It was strange, he said, but he was glad they were well. His words had been filled with conflict, yet something akin to...peace was there too, as though he finally could live with what they had done. Alistair had never trusted Morrigan like Darla had, and had always feared she was "too much like her mother". Darla always wondered if he truly believed that, or if he simply regretted not knowing his son. She supposed she would never truly know.

"Would you mind our company?" Morrigan was almost sheepish. It was only slight, a stranger wouldn't notice, but even after years apart Darla knew her well.

Darla released her barrier with an exhale and motioned across the fire. "I would never turn you away." She sat back down upon her bedroll, and watched as Morrigan motioned her son forward. When the boy pulled down his hood Darla felt her insides twist into a knot. He was very much Morrigan's son, but Alistair was subtly present in the boy's features. In his nose, the curve of his jaw, the way he even moved spoke of Alistair. Those tiny little details, utterly ignored by the rest of the world, awed her.

"Kieran, this is the Hero of Ferelden, Warden-Commander Darla Surana."

"You fought the archdemon." The boys expression shifted from curiosity to excitement to an expression as though he were trying to remember something, but could not quite grasp it. "You traveled with mother?"

Darla nodded, smiling at the boy. "Yes and yes. Your mother helped save all of Ferelden."

"I've told him stories." Morrigan laid out their bed rolls beside each other then sat down by the fire, Kieran did the same, but his eyes were studying Darla, taking her in.

"Probably not the good ones." Darla crossed her legs out in front of her, warming her toes and closing her eyes. For a brief moment she was back there, a staff in hand as she cast her spells driving back the darkspawn with her companions at her side. "Did you ever tell him about rescuing Queen Anora?"

"No, can I hear it?" Kieran leaned forward, a slight smile on his lips. Darla looked to Morrigan, who let out a small sigh and nodded.

"Well, to begin with...I should say the queen doesn't look very good in heavy armor, but I'll get to that."

Darla wove her tale as best she could, exaggerating just enough to not quite avoid Morrigan correcting her constantly, and describing their battles in glorious, but not too gory, detail for the boy. Kieran was enraptured in every word, and when she said something funny he laughed and the sound felt like honey and warmth. The sound was like his father. He was so full of questions sometimes and at others he was as quiet as a ghost. He knew how to listen and Darla could see that he was taking apart each word and committing them to memory. By the time she finished Kieran was snuggled against Morrigan, his eyes heavy with sleep.

"I'd never heard that before-" he said before cutting himself off with a yawn. "Mother tells me stories and she let Warden Alistair tell me some stories, but not that one."

Darla did her best to keep her smile, to not let the hurt show at the mere mention of her beloved's name. "Well, now you've heard one of the most exciting ones. Which ones did Alistair tell you?"

"He told me about how you two met mother, and how big the archdemon was. He told me about how you fought in the dwarven thing…" His nose wrinkled as he struggled to pull the word from his obviously tired memory.

"The Proving?"

"It was neat. I've never met a mage who used a sword before."

"It is one of the lost arts of my people. Knight-Enchanters are the closest thing to it and even then their arts are so very different." She glanced towards her sword and shield, recalling the hard battle through the now gone Temple of Sacred Ashes to how Alistair had to carry her through part of the deep roads after they defeated Branka because of a stray darkspawn arrow. Ten years together created so many memories and those were only a few. He'd been there from the beginning, loving her without hesitation despite her magic and elven blood. She looked back at Kieran, wondering if he'd ever know how extraordinary his father really was. "Perhaps when you are older I will teach you."

"I think a certain young man should get some rest," Morrigan looked down at her son with eyes filled with more love than Darla thought possible. Kieran nodded scooting onto his bedroll and pulling back his blanket.

"Thank you, Warden-Commander."

"You're welcome Kieran."

With a grin Kieran laid back and Morrigan whispered a gentle good night to her son, placing a kiss upon his brow. Why did Alistair ever worry for him? Morrigan, for all her faults, could love and care like any person. That boy, conceived under the most hurtful circumstances, walked beside his mother as her living light. Anyone could see Kieran was everything to her.

When Kieran had sufficiently nodded off Morrigan moved to Darla's side without a word. A long silence stood between them almost to the point of being awkward. Darla was uncertain of what to say, a rare occurrence, and simply uttered "I assume you came from Skyhold?"

"Yes, my time there has come to an end, as well as, my time with Celene for the moment."

"I'd heard you were in Orlais. I thought about seeing if it was you."

"Even if you had you wouldn't have seen me. I'd have made sure of it."

"Where are you headed?"

"To research Mythal."

Darla raised a brow, completely confused by such a thing. She knew Morrigan was interested in elven lore, but the way Morrigan spoke made it clear there was more than interest behind her words."The goddess?"

At that Morrigan looked away, staring into the fire. "Yes, but I will explain another time."

Darla nodded, knowing that "another time" could be the next morning or five years from now. But she would not press it. She rarely pressed anything with Morrigan.

"How are you holding up?" Morrigan seemed uncomfortable with the words, but the sincerity in her voice could not be denied.

"I know you did not care for him, but...to me he was-"

"Your moon and stars? I remember how you looked at him, and he spoke of you with enough sugar to sicken a normal person." The corner of Morrigan's mouth curved into a smile, and Darla chuckled. "He loved you dearly. I did not think it was more than a fling and did not understand. Truly, I still do not, but he was a good man." Morrigan's eyes fell upon her sleeping son and she pulled her knees to her chest. To Darla's surprise her expression became undeniably sad. "The night of the ritual. I wronged you in a way that could not be avoided, but I do not regret what you did nor what Alistair gave me. He hated himself for it, and he told me that much before Adamant."

"Another bastard son. It wasn't a legacy he was proud of."

"I do not know why. He did not abandon him and I asked for this. I went to him when he first arrived at Skyhold and told him to stay way, to not say a word. He was irritated but agreed to keep away from him, so of course it did not work. I found him in the Garden one day and Kieran was asking him all sorts of questions." A small smile crossed her face."They were eating their weight in cheese and bread. They almost made themselves sick."

Darla laughed, shaking her head as she imagined father and son with their mouths full with an angry Morrigan glaring at them. "Now, he left that part out of his letter. He was very nervous once he learned you were in Skyhold with Kieran. We worried about you both out there on your own, but the prospect _of being around you_ made him nervous."At Darla's words Morrigan gave a small chuckle. For all her bluster Morrigan couldn't deny there were rare moments when what she called Alistair's "buffoonery" made her smile because he could make almost anyone smile. Darla's chest felt tight and she looked at Kieran, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. He would never be able to ask Alistair anything again. He would never be able to hear 'I love you' or just a 'Take care' from him. The weight of it all hung on her. "Do you think you'll ever tell Kieran?"

Morrigan drew in a slow breath and the corner of her mouth twitched. "Perhaps, one day. Sometimes I see so much of Alistair in him. It used to annoy me...even anger me, but I suppose I see a lot of the good you saw in that fool in his son."

Darla looked away, as a pang of jealousy echoed in her heart and it sickened her. It didn't shock her. No, she'd spent far more time than she liked bemoaning what Morrigan could do that she could not. She wanted something of Alistair's to hold onto. More than a rose and a painting of them in their wedding attire in their bedroom in Vigil's Keep. She had been searching so hard to cure the Calling, and he was gone. Morrigan held the only piece of him that truly mattered anymore, Kieran.

The woman she called a sister did not know the restless nights Darla spent wondering if Alistair wished he had loved another woman. She did not know how ,barely a year ago, Darla had been reduced to tears when Alistair accidentally muttered in his sleep that he wanted a child. Did Darla desire a child? Maybe yes and maybe no. Either way it was almost impossible according to Anders research and research done by Warden Emery, may he rest in peace. She had no child, no remnant of Alistair but his memory. Kieran held a piece of Alistair, perhaps he came about by an unspeakable act, but that sweet faced boy was all the world had left of the best man Darla had ever known. A statue couldn't hold those good parts and no painting could capture the joy Alistair gave her. Of course, there were the wardens he trained and the lives he changed. He gave gifts of unimaginable importance, but it was not the same. They had a choice, but Morrigan had given Alistair that opportunity. Morrigan gave him the one thing Darla never could no matter how much she sometimes yearned for it. Now she couldn't even give Alistair the things she could try to. What good was her life without him? What was it now besides notions of honor and duty that were more flimsy than any of her superiors ever admitted out loud? He gave her life…feeling. She did not live for him, but she did feel alive because of him.

Darla could not breathe and could not think. It was only the sensation of Morrigan's hand on her own that brought her back from her thoughts. To her surprise tears had slid down her cheeks and she sniffled to stop her running nose. Weakness. Every day they knew the costs of their duty. At any moment they could die, and after ten long years of living that way she should have accepted it. _Weakness_.

Darla turned to Morrigan, who hesitantly wiped away Darla's tears. Morrigan's eyes seemed sorrowful, but the reason was obscured to Darla. "He wasn't supposed to die without me. We were supposed to grow old or go to our Calling together, and now I don't even have a body to bury or to set down the rivers of Redcliffe."

"He would not want you to stop living," Morrigan said.

"I know. Part of me keeps hoping he comes out of the Fade. That someone swoops in and saves him like Flemeth did at Ostagar. Could he have survived? Could he have defeated that demon and simply be trapped wandering until he starves to death if he hadn't already?" She sounded desperate, like an eager animal but she could not care. She wanted him back and nothing else would help. There was hope, an undying chance that he could appear at any moment for any reason.

Morrigan's lips parted, but almost instantly they closed and she looked away. "I...do not know for certain, but from what Hawke and the Inquisitor described it was a demon of unprecedented proportions. Yes, there is a slim chance Alistair may have survived the encounter, but even so with his wounds and lack of knowledge of the Fade..." Her words were cold facts spoken in as close to kind as Morrigan could come. Years of motherhood had softened her, but letting someone down easy was not her strong suit. Yet Darla had expected nothing less but that reality. She wanted nothing else but honesty. She knew that in her heart, but the possibilities troubled her. The thought of him dying alone stabbed deeper than any knife. "Despite it all he gave me such a gift." Morrigan smiled at her son. "Was it fate that Kieran should meet Alistair before his death or something else? Who could ever say? Either way, at least, he had the chance to know him. Kieran tries not to bother me with asking, but the boy wonders about his father."

"He's very sweet...and so much like Alistair when he laughs."

Morrigan's nose wrinkled and her lips twisted. "Tis grating."

"Tis beautiful." Darla managed a smile as they looked over the boy wrapped snug in his bed roll. She leaned back on her hands and let out a long slow sigh. She was tired, so very tired and each time she cried she felt more exhausted. "I often wonder if I would want a child. I had thought about it at the start...I didn't realize the demands of being a Grey Warden. Truly I thought we simply fought the Blight and then we could retreat back to our normal lives."

"That was very naive."

"Yes. Do you know that mages have been returned to the Circle for not remaining in service to the Wardens? There was a Grey Warden who somehow was freed of the Taint some years back. In bitterness they returned her to her circle. Whatever I might have wanted never really mattered. The world would never give me that." Darla stopped, swallowing before laughing dryly at that sour truth in her mouth. She was an elven mage with political enemies far and wide. A normal life was simply beyond her reach. "So many Wardens fear the Calling. When I heard the fake calling..." Darla shut her eyes as the memory came to the surface. The eerie hum had stirred her awake, flooding her mind and body until she was enraptured. It reached out like the faintest touch and held fast to her very soul. The demons that nipped at her heels never felt like that. They never sounded like that _song_. "However you may hear it described all people lack the words to touch its horrific magnificence. For a Warden to escape it is worthy of ejealousy, and so she was carted back to the Circle."

"I believe she was in the ranks of the Inquisition if you wanted to pursue her."

Darla nodded. "Yes, that I've known for a while now. I doubt she'd tell me anything different than what she told the other Wardens; somehow she was able to undo the taint and can live to a ripe old age. If I found out how it could be undone why should I want that? My reason is gone."

"I did not think you would let your life revolve around a man." Morrigan held a note of disdain in her voice as she spoke. "You lived before him and you will live after him. He needed you, but you were always capable and always acted with purpose. To think that the great hero would fall to despair is...almost pathetic."

Darla dug her nails into her thighs, glaring at Morrigan with every ounce of resentment nestled within her small frame. Who was she to judge a woman who had loved so deeply? Morrigan had never been in love. Hell, she had never held someone that close to her heart except for her son and, maybe, Darla. Besides Darla knew how sad it sounded, so she didn't need to be told. They were Wardens and Wardens died like anyone else. She should have expected such a fate. She should have known she would never see his cocky smile or feel his all too clammy caress after they sparred. When Alistair stood still with only a practice sword in his hands and his chest bare she would thank the Maker that fate had dragged her beyond the Circle. He would touch her arm or her face to counter the aggressiveness of their sparring with the tenderness of his loving. That would never be again except for in her dreams.

Darla snorted. "You wouldn't understand."

Morrigan looked Darla in the eye as though she were looking for something. "No. No I would not. Do not think me cold, Darla. I would destroy the world to protect my son, but Alistair chose his path long ago and so did you."

"Being a Warden wasn't much of a choice at the time-"

"I mean that you two chose to act on your feelings. No one forced you two to make noisy love over half of Thedas, to hold hands at taverns, or to wed. Be happy for what you two had, but do not pretend you didn't choose this."

Morrigan's words were of their usual comfort, brutal and yet ultimately true. No one held a dagger to their throats ten years ago when they were naive children ushered into maturity through bloodshed. The solace found in love could be extraordinary, but had she and Alistair ever truly been prepared for what love meant between two Wardens? Morrigan had been there from the beginning and saw the way love wove between them, often against her wishes. There could be no denying that if Alistair had said nothing and if she had remained silent the hurt would be less, but she would love him as she always loved him. Darla's love was a rare find hidden beneath her often cynical words and begrudging goodness. Alistair had dug deep when he gave her that rose and told her how he felt. It wasn't surprising because Alistair had a magnificent insightfulness. He could stand against a raging storm and find vellum scattered in its winds. He wasn't an overly smart man, but that cleverness of his enchanted her and he was quite a quick learner in anything he set his mind to. They may have had a choice to act on their feelings, but deep inside they would have always loved each other far more than perhaps they ever should have.

"I am unable to bear the burden of the tide. To turn and lead a thousand men...I may be the senior most Warden in Ferelden today and I lay in a cave weeping for my beloved. What leader falls apart over a man?"

"I meant it was pathetic for you to lose your way so easily, not for you to mourn him." Morrigan rubbed her nose, before casting a small fire spell to keep the fire going. She pulled off her boots and stretched out so her feet would warm. "The woman I knew ten years ago would do anything for Alistair, but she would not have spit on his grave, and slapped herself in the face by forsaking everything over his death. _That_ is weakness."

The whistling of the wind filtered into the cave and the fire crackled as more wood was tossed upon its flame. Morrigan watched the fire and in the dim light she seemed as though she were some ancient diviner, looking for something deeper or something lost. Had Darla truly changed so much over the years? If so was Alistair to blame? _No_ , Darla thought, _perhaps I'm just more...tired_. In recent months Darla felt the weight of fighting Darkspawn upon her bones mixed with the incessant nagging of the Wardens. Her clout as a hero had slowly evaporated over time and with each step forward she fought her brothers and sisters. Former templars and anti-magers claimed she could not be trusted, and that she was too soft on mages, hence why she let Anders and other apostates into her ranks. Some simply saw her as having too much influence for someone of her position and they reminded her of it constantly. Other Wardens simply assumed she didn't use her power like she should or she used too much depending on the day of the week. _Tired_. Even Alistair had said it to her before everything began. They had "discussed"—or more accurately argued about- who would go where to investigate Corypheus and the Calling, and then he had convinced her to relax somewhere afterward. The plan was they would investigate for several months and unless a lead became something real he would take her somewhere quiet. He would massage her shoulders and she would cuddle up to him as though they had not a care in the world. Alistair had broken that promise. Every thought seemed to go back to that fact and it made her feel more tired than before. It was easier to have energy and drive when she was young and didn't know how limited that a life beyond the walls of a Circle could be.

"...I have nothing else to do, but continue my research." Darla's voice was flat and she spoke before she could process it. Time had worn her down and fate had taken her one constant ray of light from her life. Never again would she feel as young as she did the day she realized how handsome he was in the light of a campfire. Never again would she feel his arms around her, as his lips brushed against her neck. "Perhaps some other Warden will make use of it, but I see no point in it for myself."

"Continue, and maybe you will find more than a cure for the Calling."

"Perhaps." Darla said nothing else, and after a few moments Morrigan rose to her feat. With a wave of her hand she placed a ward upon the floor of the cave entrance. Morrigan crossed her arms, staring out towards the night speckled by falling snow. Her friend, her sister by choice, always tended to stand alone…that was a burden Darla had long forgotten.

"There were many nights I laid awake wondering where you were," Darla said.

"It was necessary. I had to protect myself, and my child. Besides...I thought you would hate me."

"So did I." Darla only spoke the truth as best she could. What would be the point of lying to her? She could still remember that night before the Battle of Denerim. The cold of Redcliffe Castle's floor didn't compare to the chill in her soul as she lay there, rocking herself. She had asked Alistair to do the unspeakable and at that moment he was under the touch of her close friend. The full motivation was far beyond Darla's comprehension, but she saw the slight fear in Morrigan's eyes...and the disgust when she saw Alistair had agreed. Alistair told her that Morrigan had said to him that she rather Darla not die, but said nothing else of what occurred in that room. It was better that way, and yet it allowed Darla's mind to construct a twisted vision of infinitely perverse designs. Still he always said it was a night he hated to think about. Yet Morrigan and Alistair's distaste did not make any less painful. Morrigan disliked him, thought him a fool, saw little of the good in him, and yet she was willing to go through with the ritual. She was willing to use her body in such a way that after the ritual every glance cast at Darla was one of regret, and Morrigan could not stand to be near Alistair at all. No one was untouched. "I loathed the idea of you two, of him, with anyone else. I hated that he...that you...Shit. His body complied and it angered me. I wanted it to work and yet I could not stand it."

"It was no more pleasant for me," Morrigan scoffed. She turned around and began walking towards her again. "It was the best outcome possible. An old magic was preserved, you two walked away holding hands, and a wonderful little boy was born."

"It worked out as well as it could...until recently. I am glad my Alistair had the chance to meet his son, for whatever good it did."

Morrigan sat down upon her bedroll, facing Darla. "I wonder what mother would think of such sentimentality?"

"Does it matter if she's-"

The look on Morrigan's face silenced her, and Darla tilted her head unable to believe the wavering in her gaze. Flemeth was dead. Darla had checked the body, even taken scales from it in her sheer curiosity. There could be no possible way for that witch to survive, but then again Flemeth herself was an impossible thing.

"Tomorrow we shall speak of it." With that Morrigan covered herself in her blanket and laid down for the night.

Darla reached for the letter she had cast aside earlier, rereading the account of Alistair's bravery. She could see it perfectly within her mind's eye as though she were looking through a spyglass. He knew the risks of pursuing Clarel and her blind devotion, as well as the inevitable sacrifice of his remaining. Alistair stood as a model Warden, a hero from the start. Alistair could not be anything else, but who he was. Was that not why she loved him?

One day Kieran would tell stories of how Alistair and Darla described the Blight, and perhaps he would one day know his father chose to save people despite knowing the cost may be as forgotten as Darla's influence. She said she might teach the boy the art of the arcane warriors of old, and perhaps she will fulfill that. There was a 'perhaps' for each 'never again', yet somehow it was not comforting. The possibilities were not enough against the impossibilities and unlikelies. It wasn't enough to take away the hurt or to put it in perspective, but at least it gave her something to think about. At least Darla Surana had a start. He should have been there, holding her close in order to keep warm, or laying beside her until she drifted to the Fade. Instead he had chosen to be a hero, to be Alistair Theirin son of Maric, Grey Warden, Hero of the 5th Blight. In time Darla Surana may come to appreciate that with pride, but that would be a long ways away. Still there was something of Alistair in the world, in that boy and in the ache that lingered in Darla's heart. Those were things that mattered.


End file.
